


Raven's Song

by futsch



Series: Hero, Event, Prophecy [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-22 18:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6089689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futsch/pseuds/futsch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven's Song follows Tyval Ashwing's point of view as Relentless updates. Ongoing, highly suggest reading Relentless but can be read separately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            I wring my hands nervously. This is out of my control.

            Papa coughs weakly again, the sound wet and harsh. Mama stopped coughing a few days ago. It wasn’t that she was getting better—her body was just too weak.

            Elya sat beside me, her hands knotted together and pressed hard against her mouth. Her eyes didn’t waiver from our parents.

            “ _Bormah_. _Monah,_ ” I listened to her plea in soft, fervent whispers. “Please.”

            It irritates me in a way I can’t describe. Since I could remember, Elyrrya never called our parents by the same names I used. No, Elya just had these _stupid,_ made-up words that she clung onto and wouldn’t let go of. Sometimes I would chide her about it, give her grief. At this moment, I am not in the mood to disagree with her sentiment.

            Please.

            Please, spare our parents.

            It happened a few weeks ago, whatever this was. Seemingly out of thin air, Papa fell ill. First it was aching and then excruciating pain in his muscles. He couldn’t walk, couldn’t sit up at the table to eat. Mama even took a trip to Morthal.

            “I’ll be gone a day or so,” she had warned. “Don’t let your chores fall by the wayside.” And off she had gone to find an alchemist for some potions. Mama and Papa would often go out to either Dragon’s Bridge or Morthal to do business but what they did, Elya and I could never guess. Whenever either of them returned, there was always some gold and supplies. My sister and I never asked questions, always accepted the ends as facts and ignored the means.

            But when mother came back, she didn’t have anything that could help. She emptied her knapsack, glittering bottles tumbled out and the red liquid inside slushed around wildly. One by one, her hands shook while unstoppering the first bottle and then the second. It was heartbreaking to watch the way she lifted Papa’s head and tenderly spoke to him, urged him to drink.

            “There we are Colin, that’s good.” Her lips formed the words but her eyes were vacant.

            For once, Elya had gone completely silent. That first week she did her share of the chores dutifully, no complaint but no laughter either. Going into the second, neither of us said a word to each other. Both of us would sweep, wash dishes, chop firewood. Somehow Elyrrya had grown up to be utterly worthless at cooking so I was left to prepare the meals while Mama attended to Papa. My sister _was_ a little skilled at killing small animals with her bow and skinning them, albeit it sloppily. It was about as good a job as I could do, so I let her take that task just so she wouldn’t be completely useless.

            Now the strong bones that had kept our family upright and strong were crumbling into fine bone meal.

            Mama became victim to whatever Papa had succumbed to. Their weak, pallid forms had lost so much weight I barely recognized them. When Mama reached over to grasp Papa’s hand, it sickened me a little to see the spidery bones in her hand jaunt out from under her skin. Bluish, fine veins traced across her arm like thick rope.

            “Tyval?” her voice cracked.

            Elya jumped at the sound of her voice but I rushed to her side, my hands smoothing her lackluster black hair. “Mama?”

            Elya had moved so that she was behind me now, one hand on my shoulder. It wasn’t difficult to guess that she would rather be beside Papa. Those first couple of days I think we cried silently and ceaselessly while our parents slept with her beside our father and me beside mother. We were out of tears. All that was left was watching the sun rise, waking with it, watching the sun set. Minutes melted and hours disappeared.

            Sometimes I would bundle together herbs, hang them to dry for soup and meat seasonings. There were times Elya and I would work in tandem, she helped knead bread while I baked the loaves. Other times she just refused to lift a finger opting instead to sit outside and climb trees. She would return with scuffs and dirt on her dress. If it was brown I wouldn’t notice. There were times though she would carelessly wear her nicer blue one and hiding the evidence became harder.

            “Tyval,” Mama repeated. “If you don’t take care of your sister, I swear…”

            The lump lodged in my throat refused to be swallowed as a fresh wave of tears welled behind my eyes. “Mama, don’t.”

            Behind me, Elya was already quietly sobbing. Her hand had left me at some point and she dragged a chair over to sit beside our father, crossing her arms and resting her head against them as she cried into his chest.

            “If you don’t,” her voice waivered. “I _will_ find a way to punish you.”

            And then that horrible, wet cough took control of her words. My tears spilled over as I had to watch her body convulse as her chest heaved with each cough.

            They weren’t satisfying. Each tear that rolled down my cheek felt as empty as I felt; there was no hitch to my breath and mind felt clear. “Don’t say that,” I begged softly. “You and Papa are going to be fine.”

            The lie didn’t bother clothing itself in deception. It was just something to say now.

            Elya didn’t bother masking her despair. Each ugly sound that came from her was loud and garish and accompanied by a thick mucus din.

            Staring at our parents’ hands, I couldn’t stop my mind from racing.

            _What will we do, what will we do?_

Forcibly, I didn’t allow myself to finish the thought. We would be fine. We were always fine I reasoned to myself.

            “Oh, my sweet Rookling,” I heard my father croak dryly. His unoccupied hand moved to frame her face as she looked upward. “Stop crying. It makes you look like an orc.”

            Elya made some sound that resembled a laugh but it was too insincere, too forced. I did my best to play along. “She already looks like an orc. Now she just looks like a Dunmer.”

            “Don’t talk like that, Tyval,” Mama scolded. “You’re sounding like a _Nord_.”

            That gave us all pause for a little amusement, small smiles and bemused glances. It was our mother’s way of saying, “You are a Breton. _Act like you were raised better._ ”

            Elya threw her arms around Papa. “ _Bormah. Monah_.” Her sobs had quieted but were still present. “We can get a healer. I can travel to Solitude, we have a map. You know I would be quick. I wouldn’t linger about.” The words sounded less like planning and more like desperate grasping.

            Papa shook his head in short, slow motions. “Elya, dearest.” I watched as her hands gripped her dress tightly. His face was unrecognizable. I was so used to see him always smiling and laughing. Mama was always serious; Papa was the light-hearted one. “You need to be here for your brother. All you have is each other. Don’t leave one another alone.”

            As if realizing we were here, Mama found a little strength to demand, “Have you two weeded the garden today? By Arkay if I’ve found you haven’t…”

            Tears streamed down my face at the mention of the god. “Don’t, don’t say that. Don’t invoke his name.”

            It was Elya who stopped crying and it was she who wrapped an arm around my shoulder and led me out of the small bedroom. In the main area of the house, we don’t look at one another but speak meaningfully for the first time since mother returned from Morthal.          

            “What are we going to do, Tristyval?” she questions me softly.

            My only response was to sigh. “I don’t know, _Elyrrya_.” I mimic her on purpose, making her name sound like a curse. “Why don’t we just learn some healing spells?” My words have too much venom in them but I can’t help it. Raking my hands through my long hair, I feel how knotted some of the ends have become. Tightening my fingers through the strands, my chest feels too strained. Just giving the future a chance to creep into my thoughts leaves me nauseatingly breathless. Elya scowls at me but it’s only because I’m scowling at her. We look too much alike, act too much alike. Sometimes I have to remind myself that she’s only seen thirteen seasons while I’ve seen two more.

            “Go jump in the Karth,” she spits out as she turns. Her dress twists angrily around her legs as she stomps over to the meal table and slams her body into the seat. If either one of our parents had witnessed what had just transpired, they would have made us hug each other. Apologize. Something sensible. As it stood, I just sat beside her wordlessly. I bury my face into my hands, shaking my head.

            The evening sun was blazing across the horizon and streamed in through the dusty window, brilliant fire branding itself onto the clean floor and the too clean table. Elya used a finger to trace the line of the beam that ran with the aged lines of the table. When she raised her finger, I could see the faint mark of some dirt on the pad of the fingertip.

            “Why aren’t we sick?”

            It was a question we asked to the other on occasion. There was no way to know what it was that our parents had so I couldn’t begin to guess why we were seemingly unaffected.

            “Why doesn’t the sun set in the East?” I replied, shrugging. “Listen, it’s getting late. Let’s finish dinner. You can sleep first tonight.”

            She shook her head violently. “No. I can’t.”

            I understood what she meant. The first couple of days we had taken turns; I would sleep and she would stay up with our parents. Then we would switch places, the other ringing out cloths dripping with cold water while the other slept fitfully. I’m not sure if I would ever sleep well again. Even Elya slept fitfully nowadays.

            So we continue our routine. I stoke the fire and rotate the spit as the meat fills the room with a gamey scent. Elya stares off into nothing even though there’s a book in front of her. Maybe she’s reading. Maybe she’s not. I can’t tell. When the dinner is finished both of us half-heartedly pick at our food. We say little to one another. Offer no comfort because we know there is none to be found. We don’t even bother clearing the table off as we stagger back into our parents’ room.

            “ _Bormah. Monah_.” Elya slumps back into a chair and kisses my mother’s cheek. “Please.”

            Her quiet, soft plea is far-reaching. It almost sounds like a prayer, a request.

            “Mother. Father,” my words mirror her own, hoping to amplify the power behind our desperation.

            “ _Please_.”


	2. Chapter 2

I have to keep reassuring myself that Elya would be fine. I’d left Meeko with her, he would keep her company until I returned. Dragging the cart from home to Dragon Bridge and back home again wasn’t a prospect I was looking forward to. After getting lost and returning home without supplies the first time, there was no way I could return empty-handed once again.

            I stop the cart and lean against the side of it, fingering my mother’s necklace. Once I had thought about praying to Julianos. The idea is as absurd now as it had been then. Usual worries begin to crowd my mind as I turn the pendent over and over.

            _Is Elya fine?_

_What if I come back again with the cart full?_

_Is there going to be enough food for both of us?_

_Will we starve?_

My stomach growls at the thought. Then my heart races.

            “I can’t do this,” I whisper to the wilds. “I can’t, I can’t.” Burying my face in my hands, I begin to cry. Not far from Dragon Bridge, the sounds of the Karth aren’t enough to drown out my sobbing. But I can’t stay here for long. There was a cart full of books and potions and other items to sell. I’d already gotten lost once; I couldn’t leave Elya alone again.

            I reach behind me and my hand fumbles around in the pack on my back. An apple won’t satisfy me for long but I have to conserve my food. The last bite leaves me yearning for more but my feet keep moving me forward. By the time I make it to Dragon Bridge, the sun is setting. All this running around in such a short period of time has made my eyelids heavy. By the time I get to the Four Shields, I can hardly stop myself from yawning in between each word I speak to Fryssa, the inn’s owner.

            “I’d just like—” A long yawn. “—a room—” Another longer one.

            Fryssa gives me a long-suffering look. “Well, they aren’t for free, you know.”

            Gold. The question is do I have enough? Even when I’ve gone through my pockets and my bag, I can only scrape up six Septims. The cart is outside the inn until I can get a room but I’ve got no gold in there.

            Pushing the gold across the counter my mouth presses into a firm and solid line. “ _Please_. This is all I have.”

            Fryssa stares at me, ready to shake her head no when a golden, slender hand slides the remainder of the fee toward the innkeeper. When I look up to catch a glance at my benefactor, my breath stops momentarily: she is _beautiful_.

            Impossibly tall, her skin glows with a golden sheen and her smile is just as warm. “Fryssa, another round for my table as well, please.” Her voice sounds like sunlight on a cold day. The elf turns her attention to me, still gently smiling. “You are more than welcome to join us.”

            I’m still staring but there is no way I can force my eyes to tear from her. Wordlessly I simply nod, following her to a table where a Dunmer and Redguard sit. Too tired to protest, too hungry to turn down the promise of the score of hot food spread across the candlelit table. The Altmer slides next to the dark elf who gives her a smile too wide to be anything but loving.

            “Well, dear,” he gives her a quick kiss on her cheek. “You were right, Breton through and through.”

            The Altmer gives me another smile but tosses the Dunmer a playful wink. “In this light, my husband thought you were a Nord, but I told him he was going blind.”

             He seems a little offended at the accusation, his mouth wide in mock surprise. “Why, I never! _You_ thought he was a Bosmer.”

            The two elves laugh at one another good-naturedly, holding one another’s hands and gazing at each other fondly. The Redguard, however, sits stoically on the other side of the table. She’s large and dressed in robes I’ve never seen before. As she takes another sip of her bottle of ale, she quietly scoffs, “They thought nothing of the sort. Ignore their foolishness.”

            My only response to all of this is to sit and smile quietly. I’m beginning to regret taking the Altmer’s offer. What did they want from me anyway? The Dunmer ribs me gently. “Ah, boy, don’t let Charvek ruffle you badly. She’s all bark and no bite—”

            “—well, no bite as far as _we’re_ concerned,” corrects the high elf, her smile now a little bit of a smirk.

            I stare at the Redguard with wide eyes. Charvek’s only response is to take a large bite out of loaf of bread. Her forearms are uncovered so I’m able to see the muscles etched underneath her skin, tattoos faded with age on her wrists, and scars scattered here and there. “My proper name is Charvek-si,” her low voice explains. “I am the mages’ mercenary.”

            “Mages?” I say a little too loudly before I can stop myself.

            The Altmer grins at me and breaks off a piece of cheese. “You sound surprised. I thought all Men assumed all Altmer were mages. I would completely understand if you thought my husband was a good for nothing—”

            The Dunmer snatches the piece of cheese from her fingers and pops it into his mouth, smiling evilly at her “—ignore Elana. My wife and I are wildly in love with one another but sometimes she forgets I have the strongest magicka link in our relationship.

            Charvek rolls her eyes as if she’s had to listen to this exact conversation at least a hundred times before this. Clearing my own throat, I attempt to be a little more eloquent. “I’m sorry. I’ve just never met real mages before. I mean, my parents were magic users but…” my voice is already starting to crack at the mention of my mother and father. “Anyway, thank you. You have my deepest thanks for the room and for the food.” As if to agree to their hospitality, I grab an apple and take a bite. Chewing it thoroughly, I swallow it and continue, “I don’t know what I’ve done to earn such kindness but I thank you.”

            Elana looks at me as if I’ve sprouted two heads. “What you’ve _done_? Why, child, you look as if you’re ready to drop at the mere sight of a bed. You look ragged, burdened. Rilas,” she places a gentle hand on the Dunmer’s shoulders. “Tell him he looks ragged.”

            “You look ragged,” Rilas says flatly but also frowns, “The gods damn all, and you don’t look old enough to be out all alone. What’s your name?”

            There is something about the way they’re looking at me, even the Redguard, it makes me feel a little more at ease. “Tristyval Ashwing.”

            Both the Mer look taken aback, Elana places a hand on her chest and Rilas blinks once or twice. “My,” the Altmer begins. “Quite a name.”

            “Quite an _old_ name,” the Dunmer agrees. “Haven’t heard a name like Tristyval or Ashwing in, what?” he looks at his wife for confirmation. “At _least_ two hundred years. Or outside of High Rock for that matter.”

            I pick at some food at first but then more vigorously partake as the evening goes by. I learn that both Elanande Larethal and Rilas Alen are mages at the Arcane University in Cyrodiil. They had been traveling to Solitude to bring back reports to the university as to goings on around Skyrim.

            Elana frowns at every vague mention of what they had discovered. “It’s not good, not at all I’m afraid.” Her husband shakes his head solemnly to agree with her. “No matter what the Elder Council wants, the university simply cannot support their endeavor. If they aren’t careful the mess in Skyrim and Ulfric Stormcloak will be worse than the Stormcrown Interregnum.”

            I have no idea what’s she’s referring to.

            Elana has been part of the Arcane University since as long as she could remember; Rilas is part of something called House Telvanni.

            “One of the Great Houses of Morrowind,” Rilas explains when the only thing I offer him is a blank look. “They sent me off to Cyrodiil when I was young to ‘hone my talent,’ but I’m sure it was because I wasn’t willing to sink to their level to get ahead.”

            If anything, I’m learning a lot about Tamriel this evening. It has grown late and I am exhausted but the food has helped greatly. Elana is not subtle as she pushes more food toward me while chatting along.

            “And the fact you married me.”

            “And the fact I married the most beautiful woman in all of Mundus,” Rilas gives her a kiss and smiles. “Boy, if you ever want to anger your parents, marry a beautiful woman.” Elana is blushing but the way the color is mingling with her skin, it only makes her cheeks glow brighter.

            I haven’t quite mentioned that my parents are dead yet. Pushing from my seat, I run my hand through my wild hair. “I thank you again. If I’m ever in the position to repay your kindness, I will do so without hesitation. But, I must be getting to bed. I’ve had a long… couple of days,” I finally settle on leaving it at that. Charvek-si is content on giving me a nod but Elana and Rilas both furrow their brows in concern.

            “We’ll be here for breakfast tomorrow if you’d like to join us,” the Dunmer offers. “There’ll be more than enough.” He looks at me expectantly.

            When I don’t immediately answer, Elana closes her eyes sagely and waves at me. “Of course you’ll be here. Sleep well, Tristyval. We’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

            In my room it’s hard to stay awake. Try as I might, my mind is racing back to Elana, Rilas, and Charvek. The thin straw mattress isn’t quite comfortable and the room is uncomfortably warm. But I have to sleep. There’s so much to do tomorrow.

            I have to get back to Elya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relentless is now past the beginning of Tyval's absence in Elya's life but there's no satisfactory explanation for what happens to him in that story. So, part of Raven's Song is to 1) give some background, if you're interested; and 2. Introduce some characters we'll be seeing in Leading the Blind. I don't want to give away EVERYTHING yet but Charvek-si is an interesting woman (I could literally write an entire series about her). And how about Rilas and Elana, huh? Two elves who've been alive for hundreds of years and still so much in love? Geesh, those two are just adorable.
> 
> And poor Tyval. He's under so much pressure and stress. He doesn't want Elya to worry about anything even though she's offered to help. He's literally gone from obedient child who does his chores and spends his free time writing in his journals to becoming the sole caretaker for his sister who, admittedly, doesn't make things easy. He loves her dearly, but she certainly commanded all of their parents' attention being a handful to deal with. Tyval was very much content doing what it took to make his family's life easier (for the most part). This is something he and Elya have in common--they're both very focused and do whatever it takes to reach their goal.
> 
> Special thanks to EroSlackerMicha, birgittesilverbow, and SerenStone for leaving kudos, as well as some lovely guests. A very special thanks to SerenStone--I'm so very happy that you love Tyval so much (mostly because I love him to pieces!).
> 
> Next chapter? We'll see what happens to Tyval! Thanks for reading! -Ash


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, just as they promised, both Elana and Rilas are sitting at a table and chatting happily with one another. Charvek is nowhere to be seen. Before I can sit at the bar and begin to talk to Fryssa about selling anything, the mages wave at me.

            “Good morning, my boy!” Rilas greets. “Come! Break fast with us!”

            Before I can politely decline, my stomach growls. A reminder that I don’t have any food to eat save for what small rations I’ve saved for the return home. When I sit down beside Rilas, Elana gives me a solemn look.

            “Tristyval, I have to confess that we noticed that small cart outside.” She gave me an apologetic smile. “We might have perused the books inside.”

            I stop in midbite of a slice of warm bread. “Oh. Yes, those are mine.” No point in trying to deny anything. They have been kind enough to share their food, pay for my board. Honesty was the least I could give them.

            Elana gives Rilas a glance I can’t interpret. “You mentioned your parents were magic users, yes?”

            I nod, my mouth now full.

            Rilas continues his wife’s thought, “And you?”

            It takes me a moment to realize what he was asking. “Magic? Well…” I gave the thought a moment’s consideration, “Not really. My father tried teaching me but I wasn’t talented.”

            “Not talented.” Elana arches her eyebrow. “ _At all_?”

            “Um…” I take a minute to think about my answer, picking at my bread and taking another sip of light ale. “I was able to do this.” Snapping my fingers, I’m able to feel a small spark before a candle appears at my fingertips. It illuminates our little corner brilliantly.

            “Ah!” Rilas claps me on the back. “Not talented my arse, look at that!”

            “It’s just a candle,” I mumble, embarrassed that the Dunmer is praising me like a small child. My hand shakes the candle out. “Nothing really.”

            His wife smiles gently at me, placing her hand over mine. “Tristyval, I think you have great promise. Even if you can’t do much, you have the feeling of someone with a strong link.”

            “Really?” Even though it’s silly, the way they’re paying attention to me makes me feel special, wanted.  “My father always acted as if Elya was better at magic.”

            “Elya?” Rilas takes a bite of apple after asking.

            Suddenly, I feel as if maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned her—all this time the two Mer had been interested in _me_ and now it was going to be about _her_. “My sister,” I finally explain.

            The husband and wife stare at me. “Sister?”

            And I know it’s a mistake now. Now that I’ve mentioned her, they’ll want to know about her. For all I know they’ll want to meet—

            “My, a whole family of Bretons who can use magic,” Rilas muses, staring upwards in thought, “Surely that’s a sign that you’re quite gifted. Just maybe in ways you haven’t realized.”

            And it is surprising the way both Elana and Rilas look at me with admiration and the promise of something _more_. At home it had always been chores or dealing with Elyrrya and her wild ways. But right now? The two are genuinely interested in me. Before I can give into the small amount of pride though, I remember why I’m here.

            “I appreciate breakfast but I really must be going. I have to get back to my sister or she’ll worry about me.” Just as I’m pushing away from the table, Rilas gently grabs my wrist.

            “And what about your parents?” The way he asks makes me believe that he already know that Papa and Mama are not around.

            “It’s just me and my sister,” I briefly explain before pulling my wrist away. “But we’re fine.”

            Neither mage stops me as I go over to the bar and wait until Fryssa is finished dealing with another customer but I can still hear them whispering to one another, Elana’s voice soothing while Rilas’ is direct. There isn’t much time between Fryssa’s refusal to buy anything and Rilas approaching me again.

            “Tristyval,” he begins with one arm around my shoulders. “My wife and I have been talking.”

            “Talking?”

            “Yes.” He runs a hand through his long black hair, tied back neatly down his back. Clearing his throat, Rilas explains, “What would you think about coming with us?”

            I could not have heard that correctly. “You?”

            Rilas laughs a little as we sat back down. His wife is beaming widely.

            “Yes, _us_ , dear boy.” She holds her face in her hand. “Those books you have aren’t worth anything and, obviously, Fryssa won’t buy them. But if you come with us to Arcane University, to Cyrodiil, you could have a place to live and study magic.”       

            Immediately I shake my head, “I _have_ to get back to my sister. She’s waiting on me.”

            As if anticipating my argument, Elana continues, holding a hand up. “Yes, Rilas mentioned that you might be reluctant to agree to our offer if we weren’t also willing to take her as well. If she’s as talented as you are, then the university would be pleased to have a pair of siblings studying together.”

            “Siblings have a strong link to begin with,” Rilas points at me to emphasize this. “Siblings who both have a magicka link are even _more_ connected.”

            “Strong magic between blood,” Elana nods in consensus. “It’s why you often see families more successful than individual scholars.”

            “Not unlike my own House and blood,” Rilas dryly comments. Whatever House Telvanni was, he didn’t seem to have a good relationship with it. “But, yes, we are more than happy to present you to the university. Especially so young, you will benefit greatly.”

            My mind races. Elana is smiling at me with encouragement, Rilas is looking upon me with quiet reassurance. They _want_ me to say yes, I realize. Both of them want me, Tyval, to agree to their offer and travel away from Skyrim to Cyrodiil. Leave all of my worries behind. I wouldn’t have to worry about food or taking care of our home…

            More importantly, I could take care of my sister.

            “Yes,” I blurt out. “Yes.” My heart is racing at all the possibilities in front of me. “My home isn’t more than a day’s journey from here. My sister and our dog are there—”

            “—dog? Well, I’m not sure we could accommodate for _that,_ ” Rilas interrupts me with a serious tone.

            My stomach dropped. Meeko coming along would be a problem? My wide eyes and open mouth must have hinted to him that I was concerned because he started laughing and slapped me on the back.  
            “Kidding, boy! I’m _kidding_!”

            The Altmer also giggled a little behind her mouth and pushed her husband playfully. “Dearest, _stop_! You nearly scared the poor boy to death!”

            And for the first time in months, I smile.

* * *

 

            The four of us are walking back from Dragon Bridge. Elana is saying something to Charvek who is silently nodding. The mercenary somewhat scares me but Rilas assures me that she’s naturally quiet.

            “Doesn’t really have anything to say and what she does, she can do with her sword.”

            I had been able to sell my cart of books for a few septims to someone in the village, so now I was left with my pack and the pouch on my belt. The journey is almost pleasant, listening to Elana’s laughter ring out in the wilds and even hearing Charvek’s meager contributions every now and then. Rilas would sometimes bend over and kiss his wife on the cheek.

            “Are they always like this?” I cautiously ask Charvek. It wouldn’t hurt to try and get on her good side.

            It’s the first time I hear the Redguard grunt in laughter. “As if they stop.”

            And it’s almost to the halfway point between home and Dragon Bridge when Elana stops in midstride. Charvek doesn’t need an invitation to unsheathe her sword.

            “What is it?” Rilas stands a few inches shorter than her, but poised to attack, he looks ready to take on anything that threatens to harm his wife. However, the Altmer is the only one not ready to lunge at whatever might be coming our way.

            “There are too many,” she waves her hand deftly and, although she seems to be affected, I can’t see whatever it is that she does. “Detect life spell,” her explanation is sufficient. “And there are _far_ too many for us to chance, especially with you in danger.”

            “Too many?” My body shook slightly. “Too many _what_?”

            “Stormcloaks.” Rilas puts his hands down but Charvek refuses to move. “They’re soldiers who will kill us if they find us and ask for our papers.”

            “What? So we just wait until they pass?” I’m beginning to worry now.

            “There is no waiting,” Charvek says confidently, replacing her sword back to its home. “We must be the ones to leave.”

            My heart pounds against my rib cage. “Leave? Back to Dragon Bridge?”

            Both Rilas and Elana give me the softest of looks. Over the years I would learn that these glances are precursors to bad news. “Tristyval,” Elana begins.

            “They have followed us here,” Rilas’ words make sense but I refuse to accept its implications. “Our papers declare us as visitors to the Thalmor Embassy. If they knew we were in Dragon Bridge then we need to leave for Cyrodiil now. Else, they will kill _all_ of us. Stormcloaks aren’t known for their mercy. Head south.”

            My mouth drops, no words are able to escape. Shaking my head there is no verbal protest to back my actions up. Finally, after a few unbelievable moments I’m finally able to get out, “But _Elya_ …”

            Charvek is the one who answers my question. “You are free to leave or you are free to come with us; however, we head to Cyrodiil now.”

            I can’t remember what persuasion I was able to use on myself to convince me to nod, agree to stay with them, and leave Elya behind. At first I thought that surely after a few days we could return and Elya would, at best, be irritated with me. But then a few days became a few weeks. My sister stayed on my mind but I also enjoyed being the center of attention. Elana and Rilas both vouched for me and the university accepted me with no questions asked.

            For a good number of years I studied there, became skilled at Enchanting but turned out to be talented at a number of other spells as well. During festival days and holidays, I was more than welcomed in Elana and Rilas’s home. They had no children of their own so they were always overjoyed to have me. I buried myself in books and spells. I always told myself that I just had to be more prepared to travel back, that once I was powerful enough I could return. But it never happened.

            But my sister stayed with me. Every day I read, I practiced. But I also thought of Elyrrya. Once I asked Elana if we could return, try and find her.

            “I’m afraid not, my dear,” Elana hugged me tightly, smoothing my black hair against my scalp. “Skyrim has become too dangerous for us to travel, even with Charvek. There is a war brewing and I would not see you dead. You’d be traveling under Arcane University papers—Skyrim does not trust any of us right now.” 

            So I threw myself into my studies.

            And I thought of my sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. So going along with Rilas and Elana--even just for a little while--has made it impossible for Tyval to go back to Skyrim while he's just a student. To be clear, neither Rilas nor Elana agree with the Thalmor. It's just that the Thalmor are wielding a lot of power in the Empire so the University falls under that at the moment. To get through the gates, one needs papers to travel between regions. The Stormcloaks WOULD have definitely killed Rilas, Elana, and Tyval so he definitely makes the hard decision to leave Elya--it was just supposed to be temporary. This guilt will plague him for a very, very, very long time. Tyval and Elya's relationship never gets fully resolved because... oh, gosh, that's a big spoiler. I'll just let this chapter rest.
> 
> I'll wait for a few chapters into Relentless before posting the next Raven's Song. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	4. Chapter 4

Elana gives me the most mischievous of looks before taking a hand and raking my hair back. “Tristyn, you mad man. Rilas will have your skin if you’re late.”

            Now I am taller than she is, taller than Rilas. “Come now, Elana.” I wave her away but grin playfully at her. “He won’t be _that_ upset. I’m sure as soon I walk through those doors he’ll be overjoyed to see me.”

            The Altmer who has been my caretaker for most of my life gives me the most bright and cheery of smiles. Impossible as it is to believe, Elana has seen over two hundred seasons. No sign of wrinkles on her face and her hair showing no signs of losing its golden luster, it never surprised me that Rilas fawned over her so. “My dearest boy, any other day I would agree but today is your marking day.”

            I wave her off again. “Yes, I know,” I sigh. “ _Alright_.”

            “I knew you’d see it my way.” She smiles but then gives me a light shove out of the door of the mage’s quarters. “To the Council Chambers with you!”

            And so I go, my feet carry me as fast as my robes allow me down the stairs and across the hall. The open windows reveal a gorgeous day spreading over Imperial City, the sun brightly shining as a gentle breeze flows through the corridor that I am racing through. To my left is the Chironasium where I’ve spent more than my fair share of hours perfecting my enchanting work. Even though I am excited, I can’t help but think that things might go wrong. Our examinations had already been administered but Rilas told stories about markings gone wrong.

            “If your magic isn’t strong enough, if your skills aren’t what they appear to be—the bonds we put on our students can sometimes go awry. Not often, but you should be aware.”

            But none of the other students showed concern past the exams. Then again, my peers didn’t seem fond of me. A Man being brought in and aided by the auspices of one of the most powerful and well-known magical couples in Imperial City had brought upon me, at best, suspicion. At worst, I had made no friends. Although Elana and Rilas worked in cooperation with the Thalmor, over the years they’d grown more vocal about their displeasure. Despite all of this, one woman refused to let any of these things prevent becoming close to me early on.

            “Tristyn Larethal!”

            The Bosmer waves wildly at me from the other side of the corridor, grabbing her rich blue robes and racing to meet me. I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. Belwen Camoran stands two heads shorter than me and there isn’t a time she can’t be seen immaculately made up. Since today is a special occasion, this is doubly true for the elf with her rich, dark hair braided and done nicely into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. As an alchemist, Belwen’s masterful skills could be deadly but today she has decided that make-up was a more important application of her studies.

            She lightly slaps my shoulder. “C’mon, future Master Larethal, we won’t receive our marks any quicker standing here!”

            “Sorry,” I shrug. “You know how your beauty stuns me into paralysis.”

            “Oh, stop teasing!” She bumps me lightly with her hip and bites her bottom lip in obvious delight. “But I _am_ particularly beautiful today. I’m glad even _you_ can appreciate it.”

            “You’re being unfair,” my voice carries more of an echo than our footsteps on the freshly polished marble.

            Belwen’s mouth drops into a lighter smile. “I’m sorry. That was a little mean of me.”

            My arm reaches around to give her shoulders a light squeeze. “I know you don’t mean anything by it.” A grin spreads across my face. “ _Riekling_ ,” I add in playful content.

            “ _Ooooh_ ,” she laughs. “A hit below the cuirass. So creative you are, a jest about me being _short._ Never heard one of those before.” She snorts a bit but then adds seriously, “I guess Master Alen has been forcing you to research Solstheim?”

            We both somber a little at the mention of Morrowind’s ill-fated and forgotten island. “He promises that his uncle isn’t _that_ mad.”

            Belwen frowns and I am a little disappointed in myself for letting this conversation crop up again. The Bosmer is my best friend but I keep bringing up a very painful topic. The only times I’ve seen her even mildly displeased were either when her latest alchemical creation failed or when she’s ended a relationship with another man or woman. Or the issue of me leaving for Solstheim.

            “You know how stuck up everyone else is around here.” She scrunches her round nose in disgust. “If I were an Altmer or, ugh, even a _Dunmer_ I’d get a little more respect around here.”

            I arch an eyebrow at her. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with being part of the Camoran legacy.”

            “Hey! That’s rude!” She sticks her nose in the air. “I am _legitimately_ ill-begotten, thank you very much.”

            I begin to count on my fingers the many reasons why not only Belwen is my only friend but also why I am her only companionship as well. “Let’s see: a race full of elves famously known as cannibals; your only _real_ interest is in alchemy which no one considers worthy of being housed here at the university; oh, and in order to stay here within the good graces of the masters, you decided to become marked in restoration and nothing else. Can’t _imagine_ why everyone else might look down at you.”

            Playfully, she bared her teeth and snapped at me. “I’ll eat _you_.”

            Rolling my eyes, we continue to walk to the Council Chambers where Rilas, two other students, and a master of conjuration awaits us. Belwen blows a kiss in Rilas’ direction and he shakes his head, giving her a disbelieving grin. In my early days at the university, I futilely fought my nature so Belwen and I had tried being together but it was made evident to both of us that my lack interest to bed anyone wasn’t a simple phase or fault on either of our parts. During that time, however, she had grown close to the people I now called my family. She and Rilas got along fantastically even when the Bosmer’s energy overpowered Elana’s long-suffering patience.

            “Tristyn, my boy!” Rilas nods at me, his usual embrace foregone for the sake of ceremony. “Just in time. I was getting a little worried that I’d have to yell at you later.”

            “You? Yell?” I laugh. “That would be the day, wouldn’t it?”

            Belwen elbows him. “Oooooh, he’s yelled at me a couple of times. Nasty business.”

            He crosses his arms and glares at her. “Young lady, I yell at anyone who decides to use enchanting tables as alchemy labs.”

            I shoot Belwen a nasty stare. “Belwen!”

            She shrugs sheepishly. “All of the good tables were taken.”

            The master conjurer clears his throat. “If all of you,” he stares pointedly at Rilas, “are finished with this nonsense, we do have an _important_ ceremony to conduct.”

            Rilas clears his throat and coughs, “Quite right. Go, you two.”

            And so we stand in line with the other two students. One is an Altmer named Tilmo Jorlock whose work in enchanting rivaled my own but whose work in illusion was mediocre at best. The other is an older student who Belwen knew from restoration lessons, an Imperial woman who also studied alteration magic. I didn’t know her very well but Belwen said she was insufferable.

            “Always going on about ‘the glory of the Empire’ and such nonsense,” she’d grumble. “Sad state of a country if a bunch of elves are running it.”

            Needless to say, Belwen wasn’t overly fond of the Thalmor.

            The other master speaks some obligatory words about how mages of Arcane University have survived the dissolution of the Mages Guild following the Oblivion Crisis, that as students and future masters we have a responsibility to keep this one last bastion of knowledge safe from outside forces that would seek to use the power for power. He also says something about the prestige of the university. It is a thinly veiled insult at other institutions of magic. More than likely he is referencing the College of Winterhold in Skyrim where necromancy is openly practiced and the mages aren’t as “disciplined.” Whether these accusations that I’ve heard over the years is true or not I can only guess.

            “But now,” his voice interrupts my thoughts, “has come the time for all of you to join the ranks of mages here.” He motions towards Rilas who walks to the Imperial woman. “These links are your bond to the university, a symbol of your strength, and a reward for your accomplishments. Master Alen?”

            Rilas offers his hands upward to the woman as if asking her to dance. Without hesitation, she places hers with the palm side up. His thumbs dig into the cups of her palms and she winces. “These binds are more than a shallow link to your dedication to books,” his voice more solemn than I’ve ever heard it before explains. He moves onto the Altmer and just as he is burning the marks in, Tilmo does more than wince: he lets out a yelp of pain and falls to his knees. Rilas immediately releases his hands and drops down to lay a hand on his back.

            “Now then, you’ve passed your exams. This shouldn’t be _that_ painful,” the Dunmer softly chides. The other master is rolling his eyes and scoffing but Rilas helps the student up. I shift uncomfortably as the Altmer continues to sniff and sob a bit. I’m at the end of the line but still close enough to hear him whimper a bit as Rilas finishes marking him. He then moves to Belwen.

            She bites her bottom lip, unsuccessfully able to contain her smile. Rilas only takes her left hand, the other hangs by her side. “These bonds tie you to something larger than us, more expansive than yourself.” And as he marks her, she bites down on her lip a little harder but doesn’t make a sound.

            Finally he reaches me. I’m not smiling, attempting to look serious for the occasion. Rilas, on the other hand, loses at decorum. His hands and mine are far from strangers but it is strange for his thumbs to press so hard. At first there is no sensation but his flesh against mine and I’m wondering what the Alter was so dramatic about. That is until a quiet and low burning sensation shoots through my hands, slowly at first but then my whole hand is on fire. A sharper, more brilliant pain begins searing the back. My face keeps still but I bite the inside of my cheek.

            Rilas finishes, “These bind you to a magicka link that connects this plane and Aetherius, the origin of all magic. Now,” he looks to all of us. “After me: May my sinister be sharp,”

            We repeat after him.

            “And my dexter broad.”

            And again.

            He beams at me. “Congratulations,” is what he says to everyone but then to me alone, “I’m _so_ proud of you.”

            He takes me into his arms and I return the embrace. Arms tight around me, Rilas refuses to let me go. Beside me, Belwen coughs loudly. “Well, I’m glad I’m not the jealous type or I’d think you were playing favorites, _Master Alen_.”

            The man who took me into his home pushes me back just enough to keep my shoulders in his hands. “Ha! Right you are, right you are. We’ll celebrate properly back home.” But he gives the Bosmer’s arm a quick, affectionate squeeze. I can hear the other students and the master muttering but it bothers me little. Instead I shake the other master’s hand, thank him for his time. To the other student’s I offer more congratulations. Belwen does the same but I suspect she would be just as happy running to her family and forgetting everyone else who was here. As we walk back to my quarters, we stretch out our hands and compare marks.

            “Cute bird,” I poke fun at her. “And that bare hand is fashionable as well.”

            She elbows me playfully. “You _know_ the university won’t allow me to conduct any serious alchemical work unless I got branded with one of the five _proper_ schools. Restoration was an easy way out.”

            My hand loosely tapped her bare one. “It would have been just as easy to study illusion magic as well. You work with illusions all the time in alchemy. Only one mark? People are bound to talk.”

            “Just because I’m not _branded_ doesn’t mean I don’t know more than a few spells,” she points her index finger and closes her eyes in true know-it-all fashion. “But _you_ know as well as I that two brands means twice the work. I’d never be able to perfect my alchemy.”

            And before I know it, we’re at the door to my quarters. Knowing Elana and Rilas would expect me home, I plan to change into every day clothes and then leave for the inevitable celebration. But Belwen doesn’t immediately let me go.

            “You were serious about leaving for Solstheim, weren’t you?” I’ve never seen her face this somber or serious.

            To say that I’m a bit puzzled is an understatement. Rilas spent months convincing his uncle on Solstheim to take me in and train under him. I wasn’t thrilled at the idea of spending time away from my home either but Elana convinced me that contacting Neloth took a great deal of effort on Rilas’ part, that he only wanted to give me my best chance. And, well, Neloth _was_ the best enchanter anyone could name.

            “Why the sudden concern?” I lean against the wall, throw out a hand toward her in question. “I know the other mages aren’t wild about you but you _do_ have other friends here.”

            “You idiot,” she smirks and grasps my hand with hers, swinging playfully. “I have _loads_ of friends outside of this silly place. But you’re my closest. Oblivion only knows what you’d be to me if you liked being naked with someone.”

            I blanch at her teasing and yank my hand from hers. “Why must you always bring that up?”

            And now she looks shocked. Her hand lays gently against my arm. “I’m sorry. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. I’m just teasing. But that doesn’t make it right.”

            I realize that I’m probably more upset at the knowledge that we are close but that the gap between her needs and mine were too far to overcome to make any sort of intimate relationship successful. I’d always felt like a failure for being unsatisfied when we attempted to consummate the feelings we had for one another. Belwen had moved along with little trouble, it seemed. I was left feeling like an outsider.

            “It’s alright, Belwen,” I pull her in close and give her a quick squeeze which she happily returns. “It’s just me. It’s always me.”

            “I’ve told you time and time again, there’s _nothing_ wrong with you.”

            “ _Right,_ because I know dozens of people who don’t like the idea of bedding someone.”

            She places her hands firmly on her hips. “Well, I know one and he’s very important to me. If it’s how you feel, then that’s it. Nothing bad or wrong about you. C’mon, Tristyn, we’ve gotten our marks today! You’re not leaving for Solstheim tomorrow and it’s foolish of me to bring it up now.” Her eyes become wide and she stares up expectantly at me.

            I can’t help but grin. “Your lips are a nice shade of red today.” And I mean it. Her deeply sun-kissed skin that hides a tinge of olive underneath is complimented by the deep crimson.

            “You like it?” she puckers them dramatically and bites her bottom lip. “It took forever to get the ingredients right, but it doesn’t smudge, see?” she rubs her fingers across her lip to demonstrate.  
            “The mages should be astonished at what you accomplish at the alchemy table.”

            “As they should!” she laughs and undoes her neat hair. The braids tumble out in waves of deep, shiny chestnut past her shoulders. Her hands gather messy handfuls, piles them against her head. “You think those old, stuffy masters will give me a job if I give them my salve recipes for great hair?”

            I roll my eyes and give her hair a friendly tousle. “They’d be fools not to.”

            She allows her hair to fall back down. “I’m serious though. You are my closest, best friend. Like a brother even.”

            And I know that my face has given away emotions that I’ve done so well to hide for many years.

            Her eyes are searching mine for an answer. “Did I… was there something I said?”

            But I can’t tell her. This woman who trusted me with every heartbreak she’d ever had, who thought I had confided everything to her, couldn’t learn what I’d done when I was too foolish and too young and now too far along to correct.

            “No, no. I’m just tired.” I try smiling to convince her and, while she does say good-bye and leaves to celebrate with her family, I don’t think she’s convinced. Luckily, I am very skilled at pushing down troubling thoughts and when I celebrate with Elana and Rilas later, it is as if I had never been reminded of being a failed brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Belwen! Her family lineage is a callback to events that occurred in Oblivion. And Rilas being part of House Telvanni is not a trivial matter. A slight hint at the events of Rook of Skyrim...
> 
> Also, representing a spectrum of sexualities and genders is important to me but making sure I'm writing about those kinds of things in a way that's respectful and non-trivial, well, it DOES take practice. For example, Charvek is a transwoman but at this point in the story I've not found a good way to incorporate that into the narrative in a meaningful way. This chapter is an exercise in that for Tyval.
> 
> Thanks to Kbean and some lovely guests for leaving kudos!
> 
> Thanks for reading! -Ash

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the last set up for Relentless. Raven's Song is ongoing and will update each time Relentless reaches a Rook and Raven chapter update. Also, it might be interesting to note how Tyval relates to Rook of Skyrim. If you blink, you might miss it. Thanks for reading! Relentless starts soon! -Ash


End file.
